


It Lasted

by servecobwebheadaches



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: 2015!ryden, Alcohol, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Original Character(s), Ryden, no split, present day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 15:45:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5339636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/servecobwebheadaches/pseuds/servecobwebheadaches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan would admit that he was aiming to amaze Brendon with their new house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Lasted

**Author's Note:**

> Let this fic get rid of any angsty sadness over the split. Just act like it never happened. Ryan and Brendon are still together . . . they buy a house, they're in love, it's domestic . . .

For years now, Ryan had the somewhat unrealistic goal of giving Brendon anything he wanted—and more.  To completely spoil him, just because Ryan thought he deserved it.  And he tried, he really did, indulging in every little thing Brendon would even mention.  Brendon found this to be quite ridiculous, although laughably sweet.  Perhaps it all started when the band had just begun—a seventeen-year-old Brendon barely getting by in a six hundred square foot apartment.  Ryan had stayed there one night, and had felt so _bad_ for Brendon, that Brendon had to live with that.

So ever since they'd started dating, Ryan had been determined to give Brendon better.  Sure, it had been hard, covering up their relationship for years, but things has settled down.  They moved into an apartment together, reasonably small, and had been paying rent for six months, yet they'd been away for three—on tour.  The apartment wasn't much, with two bedrooms, two bathrooms.  It was crammed full with their possessions, especially the second bedroom—full of their numerous musical devices and instruments.  Ryan never complained, for Brendon seemed to be happy with it; he said it was cozy and made him feel closer to Ryan.

When they came home from tour, both of them were overly exhausted.  After a bit of persuading, Ryan went to get ready for bed while Brendon started unpacking.  Brendon didn't want to wake up to a mess in the morning of their instruments strewn across the apartment, so he brought them all back to the second bedroom.  He groaned upon looking in the room.  There were boxes piled high with fan mail, gifts from on tour, and other miscellaneous things they held on to from their careers so far.  They had a few guitars hanging on the walls, and a keyboard was set up in a corner.  There was simply no place for Brendon to put their newer instruments.

It was eleven thirty at night, and yet he begun moving things around in an attempt at some organization.  In the process, he knocked a box over, hit his elbow (pain pain pain) on a guitar and made it crooked, and started yelling at inanimate objects.  "Hey."  Brendon turned around to see Ryan in the doorway, wearing his boxers and one of Brendon's t-shirts.

"Hi," Brendon said, trying to sound normal.

"There's way too much stuff in here," Ryan said.

"No fucking shit," Brendon snapped.

"We need a bigger place," Ryan stated simply.

Brendon tiredly nodded.  He turned around to go back to his attempts at making room.  Ryan watched him for a moment, until he got frustrated again.  "Just come to bed, my love.  We can take care of it in the morning," Ryan said.

An actual bed, and sleep, and Ryan laying next to him, all in one—Brendon couldn't help but give in.

<<<<<>>>>>

Ryan would admit that he was aiming to amaze Brendon with their new house.  He started out looking at other apartments, just with an extra bedroom, but decided that there was more that could be done.

Soon enough, Ryan was in complete denial that he was planning to buy a _mansion_ , but the three houses he had narrowed his search down to would classify as such.  He had only seen pictures of them online, and was now going to check them out in real life.  The best part was, Brendon didn't know anything about it.  Ryan hadn't told him he was serious about moving.

Ryan was trying to figure out what he was going to say to Brendon to get out alone for a few hours, so he could see the houses in person before telling Brendon anything.  Brendon had been by his side all morning, so Ryan was finding slipping away to be a challenge.  "Babe," Ryan said, getting Brendon's attention from his video game.  "I'm going out for a couple hours, alright?  I'll come pick you up in a bit."

Brendon looked up with a vague frown.  "Where are you going?"

Ryan leaned over the couch and pressed a kiss to Brendon's lips.  "Don't worry about it.  I'll see you in a bit.  Love you."  And Ryan managed to get out of the tiny apartment before Brendon could protest.  Ryan felt slightly guilty for not telling Brendon, but he was sure it would be worth it by the time Brendon saw the house.

He met a real estate agent at an office, which he was wary about—it would have been preferable to walk through the houses alone.  Ryan thought it would be alright as long as the real estate agent didn't recognize him.

And it was just his luck that he was utterly wrong.

Before he could get the word, "Hi," out of his mouth, the agent said, "You're Ryan Ross from Panic! At The Disco."

"Oh," Ryan said, taken aback.  "Yeah.  Yeah, I am."

"Well, isn't it lovely to meet you?  I'm Miranda.  Let's get started."

Ryan swallowed.  "Okay."  He couldn't help but notice how she maybe held eye contact a few moments too long, or how she seemed to sway her hips more than necessary when walking ahead of him to the car.  If she was going to be one of those fans who just tried to hit on him—then it was going to be one hellish day.

Miranda drove her car, talking non stop.  "Your first listing is the closest to here, and it's totally my personal favorite out of all the houses you're looking at today.  Can I ask why you're buying a new house?"

Ryan froze up a bit.  His relationship with Brendon was still on the down low.  "Uh, well, I've been—I just have way too much stuff in my current place."

"Interesting.  And I believe that after all your work, you deserve a place as nice as this one."

Ryan rubbed the back of his neck.  "Um—thanks, I guess."

"Absolutely.  Is anybody else moving in with you?"

"No, not permanently."

"What do you mean by that?" Miranda questioned.

Just like a fucking interview.  "I mean, I've got friends who like to stay over a lot."  Ryan was really wishing Brendon was there, charming Brendon, knowing how to deal with all sorts of people.  Brendon always knew how to deal with every question, every overbearing push, every irritating thing that made Ryan more timid.  But Ryan had chosen to do this whole process alone, without Brendon to help him through it, and he was starting to regret it.

"The house is about three blocks away now," Miranda announced.

The house turned out to be in the city, packed close with houses on either side and a busy road right out front—an instant turn off for him.  He had been looking for places more distant from everything. "It seems so you, being cute and all," she said.  Ryan had to bite back a chuckle.

"Um . . . I don't.  Let's just go look."

He left his bag in the car, wanting to get this over as quick as possible.  Already, he was fairly sure that he wouldn't be considering buying the house any longer.  The inside of the house was large, but there were several staircases leading everywhere.  It was choppy and all the hallways were narrow.  There was a lot of wood paneling around the doorways, but much of it was cracking, faded, or cuffed.  Ryan reached into his pocket for his phone to find that he didn't have it—he left it in the car.  Ill at ease without it—more that he was without his _Brendon_ —Ryan rushed through the house, unimpressed.

"Not what you're looking for, dear?" Miranda said, with exaggerated concern.   _Dear_.  Ryan smirked.

"No, I don't think so."

Before Miranda even stepped in the car, Ryan was already in, looking through his bag for his phone.  He could feel it vibrating somewhere towards the bottom.  "Fuck," Ryan whispered as it stopped. Miranda closed her car door, and Ryan kept digging around for the phone.

"So," Miranda started, "any other plans for tonight?"

Ryan's fingers curled around the phone at her last words, saving him from Miranda for a moment, the screen lighting up with, "Incoming call from Jon Walker."

"I'm sorry," Ryan said, "I have to take this."  He stepped out of the car.  "Hey," he answered the phone.

"There you are," Jon said on the other end.

"What's up?  Why're you calling?" Ryan asked.

Jon scoffed on the other end, not seeming too pleased.  "Brendon just called me," Jon said, as if that explained everything.

"Okay . . . what did he say?"

"Why aren't you answering his calls?" Jon said, ignoring Ryan's question.

"Wh—"

"Why aren't you answering his calls, but you're answering mine?" Jon demanded.  "He's worried, he's really worried.  He told me you've been really distant for about the past week or two, and you've spent a lot of time stowed away at your computer or something, and then today you just left him at the apartment without telling him where you were going, apparently you told him not to worry about it.  Ryan, he's worried you're either getting yourself in some kind of trouble or you're cheating on him, and I kind of am too!"

"No, Jon—"

"Please tell me he's overthinking this.  I swear, Ryan, I'll kill you if you break his heart, after everything you've been through together."

"I'm buying a house!" Ryan interjected.  "I'm buying him a house, fucking hell.  I'm not cheating on him, holy shit, I can't believe that's what he thinks!  I've been trying to surprise him, with this whole thing, I haven't told him anything.  I've been on the Internet for awhile looking at places, and right now, I'm with a realtor, looking at houses, for me and Brendon to live in together."

"Oh.  I'm sorry, I shouldn't have just—Why didn't you tell me you were buying a house?" Jon said, but it was much happier.

"You know, just the risk of you telling B what I was up to."

"Man, Ryan, I've got your back.  But, seriously, right now, do yourself a favor and go home and comfort Brendon."

"Yeah, okay, I will.  Thanks."

Ryan hung up to see that he had two voicemails from Brendon.  He listened to them, the first one, "Hey, it's me.  Ryan, baby, where are you, lover?"—"Baby," and, "lover," in the same sentence; Ryan could hear that Brendon was worried—"Is everything okay?  Love you, bye." The second voicemail was sent fifteen minutes later, a sigh the only thing there.  Ryan called him, to be sent straight to voicemail.  His eyebrows furrowed at that.

"I'll be home in a few minutes, baby boy.  Everything's okay.  Love you," Ryan left as a message.

Ryan was just going to have to explain everything to Brendon a bit earlier than planned.

He got back in Miranda's car.  She smiled too brightly at him.  "I'm sorry, but something's come up.  I—can you maybe take me back to the office?  I've got to get back home," Ryan managed to get out.

"Okay, sure thing.  Do you want to make another appointment?"

"Um. Maybe, later," Ryan said.  He acted busy on his phone so Miranda didn't pester him.  Brendon didn't call or text him back.  Ryan was really starting to feel bad about the whole thing—he didn't want to make Brendon upset and definitely didn't want to fight with him.

Ryan walked in the apartment, closing the door behind him in a careful way.  "Brendon," he called softly.  He began walking to their bedroom when Brendon came striding out, looking unsettled.

"Well?" Brendon said, raising an eyebrow.

"Hey, look, Jon called me and told me what you think—" Ryan started.

"Why didn't you answer me?"

"I called you back, you know, and you didn't answer.  I'm not fucking cheating on you, you need to know that."

"Where were you, Ryan?" Brendon said, voice just as accusing.

Ryan remained calm, locking eyes with Brendon.  "I've been _trying_ to surprise you, but that went to shit.  I was with a real estate agent, looking at houses, because I've been planning to buy a new place for us.  I've been working on it for a couple weeks, and I was going to tell you later tonight after I saw the houses in person, but . . ."

"Is this true?"

"Yes, of course it is.  I didn't answer the phone because I left it in the car looking at the first house.  I'm sorry," Ryan apologized.

"How do I know this isn't a lie?"  Brendon was being stubborn, but Ryan was used to it—Brendon was always like this in all of their fights.

"Because I would never cheat on you!  I'm only trying to make you happy.  I just—went about it the wrong way, I guess."

"Fine, fine.  If you're telling the truth, then why didn't you talk about this sooner?  You didn't even tell Jon!  You tell him everything."

"I was trying to surprise you," Ryan repeated, voice lower.  "And I know he would've told you."

Brendon crossed his arms in an 'I-don't-believe-you' matter and waited for more explanation from Ryan.

"I'm not lying to you.  Why are you so set on not believing me?"

Brendon practically blew up at that.  "Why?  Maybe because you've been so fucking mysterious that I don't even know what you're doing.  You hardly look up from that laptop of yours and act like nothing's different, when you don't talk to me nearly as much as you did two weeks ago.  So, no, I don't really believe you and I don't think any of your intentions have been good, or to make me happy.  I have nothing to prove that you really are cheating on me, but I can't seem to fucking think of anything else to explain what you've been up to."

That was like a smack in the face to Ryan.  "That's the conclusion you jump to?  Me cheating on you?  What the fuck?  I just explained to you what I've been doing, I've been really busy trying to get this all together, but maybe—" Ryan hesitated.  "—maybe you just don't even want to do this, actually buy a house with me.  I thought you trusted me.  Are you trying to find flaws in our relationship, come up with a reason to . . . Do you not—do you not want this anymore?" Ryan's voice cracked at the last syllable.  Brendon couldn't be _leaving_ him, no, Ryan wouldn't be able to handle that, handle that heartbreak.

Brendon's face fell.  "Oh.  Oh, fuck, Ryan, of course I want this.  I'm in love with you."

"I'm in love with you, B, I have no reason to cheat on you.  Please, believe me, you have to.  You can't—" Ryan stopped, completely distressed, searching Brendon's face.  "What more reassurance do you need?  No one could ever compare to you, I can't imagine being with anyone else, Brendon, I love you, I love you."

Brendon dropped his head, eyes closed.  "I'm not breaking up with you.  You can calm down," he muttered.  Ryan knew he had been starting to sound a bit desperate.  "It's okay, yeah?" He asked.

"Yeah," Ryan whispered.  "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be.  I'm sorry, I'm just paranoid, I'm afraid you're gonna leave me . . ." Brendon confessed.

"No, I'm not going to leave you, I couldn't."  And Ryan knew what this was about at that moment, with this sinking feeling in his chest.  A few years before, they'd almost split.  Their relationship started failing, they were fighting non stop, and it was getting in the way of the band.  They took a year, a break from attempting to put music together with the band and a break from each other, to sort out that no, they couldn't be without each other and to see what they'd been doing wrong.  Afterwards, they were inseparable, and Ryan couldn't even dream of them separating again.  But Brendon was scared.

"Come here," Brendon said, reaching his hands out for Ryan.  Ryan took them and kissed Brendon, carefully slow.

"I'm not going anywhere," Ryan promised.  "I'm yours."  Brendon enveloped his arms around Ryan, burrowing his face in the crook of Ryan's neck.

"I love you," Brendon said.

"I love you too."  Ryan planted his lips right in the middle of Brendon's forehead.  "Are we good?"

Brendon nodded.  "But wait," he said.  Ryan looked down at him.  "You're really serious about buying a house?"

Ryan smiled.  "Yeah, do you wanna see pictures?"

<<<<<>>>>>

They bought a house forty five minutes outside of LA that overlooked a strange desolate patch of pine trees and a river.  Six bedrooms, five and a half baths, pool in the backyard, a main staircase and a somewhat secret spiral one up to a balcony, marble flooring in an open concept, and three cherry wood fireplaces.  Gorgeous, excessively huge in the dramatic aspect they both loved.

Three weeks after moving in, they were almost finished unpacking.  All their furniture had been arranged, most of the decorating had been done.  The couple had long since moved on from their short lived fight—everything back to as normal as it would ever be between the two of them.

Ryan awoke to the sound of Brendon swearing.  "Fuck, what the fuck," Brendon grunted.  He'd been out of bed for half an hour and Ryan hadn't even noticed enough to awake.  Ryan cracked open his eyes to the sight of Brendon in the doorway between their bedroom and bathroom—he was forcing a pair of way too small skinny jeans over his hips.  "I—haven't—gained—any—weight," he managed between gasps.  He was sucking his already flat stomach far back behind his ribs in an attempt to pull the button closed.  It had nothing to do with his waistline, but all to do with the span of his hips.

"Babe, babe," Ryan said, voice still scratchy with sleep, "I'm pretty sure those are my jeans."

"Oh."  Brendon gave up, letting his arms fall to the sides and the zipper gape open.  "That would make sense, except we don't have the same pairs of pants, and I know I have a pair of black—"

"Wait.  Are you sure we don't have any clothes that are the same?  None at all, hmm?" Ryan teased.  They had a bunch of clothes that looked exactly the same until one put them on.  There had been countless times where Ryan accidentally put on Brendon's clothes only for Brendon to laugh at how they hung off Ryan's small frame.

"Okay, I take that back.  We probably do have the exact same pair but just—damn you and your skinny little ass, Ryan."

Ryan smirked.  "I have to admit that those look sexy on you."  The black fabric clung to Brendon's legs like a second skin, defining his thighs more than any clothes usually did.  "So, damn you and your beautiful ass, Brendon, you shouldn't be allowed to do that to me this early in the morning."

"Shouldn't be allowed to?" Brendon came over and sat himself on Ryan's hips.  "Shouldn't be allowed to?" He kissed down Ryan's neck and started on his bare chest before pulling away.  "I think you love it."

"Clearly I love it," Ryan breathed.

Brendon got up.  "I've got to go, I'm gonna be late."  He pulled Ryan's jeans off his legs and dashed off to find his own.  "Meeting with Pete and Kanye West, I shouldn't be a minute late," Brendon announced yet again.  It wasn't like he had stopped talking about it for the past week or anything.  Ryan dragged himself out of bed, instantly covered in goosebumps, and found a t-shirt to go make coffee in.  He gave Brendon a kiss on the cheek before heading downstairs, the marble like ice on his feet.  The sunrise was bright and reflecting blindingly against the bright blue water in the pool, through the windows, right in Ryan's eyes.  He pulled the blinds down to take the glare away and wandered into the kitchen.

The coffee had finished brewing, and Ryan was pouring it into a mug.  "You're adorable," Brendon said from behind him, and Ryan startled, spilling some coffee and burning his hand.

"Shit," Ryan said, in pain.

"I'm sorry, ah."  Brendon rushed to clean up the spill while Ryan ran his fingers under cool water.

"It's alright," Ryan said.  "Here's your coffee, anyway."

"Thanks.  How do I look?" Brendon asked, stepping back so Ryan could get a full body view.  He was wearing his black rimmed glasses, black leather jacket, a white button up, and his own pair of black skinny jeans.  His dark hair was combed, the usual strands falling in his face pushed back.  He had a large ring on nearly every finger, and a pair of sunglasses hanging from his collar.

"Stunning as always," Ryan said.

"Thank you—good.  I've gotta run, but—" He tilted his head up to give Ryan a fairly long kiss.  "I love you.  I'll be home this afternoon."

"Love you too."  Brendon ruffled Ryan's hair before leaving.

Ryan busied himself that day with organizing a few things—he made sure there were towels in the closet by the pool, beer and soda in the outside fridge, placemats on the dining room table that matched the room around it.  He explored the house a bit more, walking up the spiral staircase to the balcony.  Before walking outside there was a narrow hallway that seemed to go on quite a ways on either side of the stairs.  He walked down one way to be met with a single door at the very end.  He opened it and found himself in the master bathroom, which he'd been using for weeks but hadn't noticed the doorway.  Ryan left the door cracked so he could find it again.

There were three more dusty closets down the hallway, but he found a door that led to darkness.  Ryan held up his cell phone to give off light, and saw that there was another spiral staircase that lead down to a different room he had never seen before.  The stairs, dangerously, didn't have any railing.  After walking down all the stairs, he found a light switch which turned on a single dim bulb overhead.  He was pleasantly shocked to find an old grand piano just sitting there.  It looked as though it hasn't been touched in fifty years.  The entire room looked as though it hasn't been touched in fifty years.   _Brendon will love this_ , Ryan thought with a grin.

He blew some dust off the lid of the piano before opening it.  Surprised to find that all of the keys were still intact, Ryan leaned over it to play the beginning of The Hush Sound's "You Are the Moon."  The sound was clear and a bit echoey in the room, but it was out of tune.  Ryan closed the lid.

The single light bulb began making a buzzing sound, flickered, then went completely out, leaving Ryan in the pitch black dark.  He used his phone for light again.  Making his way back upstairs, he tripped over a single step and toppled over the edge of the staircase, falling several feet to the ground.  He almost landed on his feet, but his ankle twisted and he fell in a heap of long limbs.  He winced at the pain seeping in his bones from falling on them.  Once he caught his breath, he crawled to the piano for something to grasp onto as he stood up.  The moment he put weight on his left ankle, his vision went black with pain.

He limped back to the stairs, which seemed like a much more daunting task of climbing now.  He tried to make it work using only one leg, but that only went on for three stairs before he fell again, this time catching himself without falling off the edge.  Because there was no railing for him to grasp onto, he couldn't awkwardly hop up the stairs.  Crawling was out, because he had to hold his phone for light so he didn't go over the edge again.  As somewhat of a last resort, he pushed himself up a few stairs using only his upper body strength.  He found that it wasn't worth bruising up his pointy hipbones on the stairs.  His eyes welled with tears, a lump forming in his throat at all the pain and the helplessness of being stuck.  He decided he would wait for his ankle to feel a bit better before he got back up again.

He struggled with the effort of walking ten more times in the next three hours, he even counted.  Ten more times he put himself in a burst of pain and collapsed forward on his elbows, on the stairs.  He resigned his attempts with a dry sob at the simple pain and irritation of not being able to walk.  His mind wandered to Brendon, which was comforting.  He imagined what Brendon was probably doing at that moment—holding a beer, a joint between his lips, laughing at absolutely anything.

It was getting late in the afternoon, and Ryan had a feeling that any important business Brendon was taking care of had already been completed.  With no where else to turn, Ryan called him, hoping he would be able to come home and figure out how to get Ryan out of this.

"Hello?" Brendon answered, voice cheery.

"Hey, are you busy?" Ryan asked, trying to force his voice not to waver.

"No, not at all. I'm just hanging out."

"I'm sorry to do this to you, but can you come home?" Ryan asked, and he could hear that his own voice was pitchy with being on the verge of tears.

"Yeah, I can.  What's wrong?"

"I fell, and I twisted my ankle or something, and I can't make it back upstairs," Ryan said, quietly, embarrassed.

"You can't walk?" Brendon exclaimed loudly.

"No, not exactly."

"Baby, I'll be right there, okay?  Hang tight."  Ryan could hear Pete's voice in the background, asking Brendon what happened, to which Brendon replied, "Ryan got hurt."  Brendon hung up, leaving Ryan laying there, comforted that he was coming and yet humiliated about the whole ordeal.

Soon enough, Ryan could hear Brendon's voice calling for him through the house.  "Sweetheart?  Where are you?  Huh, Ryan, can you hear me?"  Brendon shouted.  Ryan called Brendon on the phone again to spare both of them the yelling.

"B, head up to the balcony—" Ryan started instructing.

"You fell off the balcony?" Brendon cried, cutting Ryan off.

"No, no, listen to me.  Go up the stairs to the balcony, and there's that hallway, you know, the dark one?"

"Okay, yeah, I'm there."

"Go right.  There's an open door and it's completely dark so use your phone for light.  Hang up with me, and be careful walking down the stairs.  There's no railing," Ryan warned.

The phone clicked to an end, and Ryan heard the door above him creak open.  "Are you here?" Brendon asked.

"I'm here."

Brendon took Ryan's advice and was careful on the stairs, finding Ryan towards the bottom.  "Can you hold this?" Brendon asked, giving Ryan his phone.

"Yeah, sure."

Without giving Ryan any warning, Brendon scooped him up into his arms with ease.  "There, okay, light our way up," Brendon said.

"M'love," Ryan mumbled, "you shouldn't carry me . . . Up these stairs, that's really hard, I'm not light . . ."

"You weigh no more than ten pounds, I promise.  Carrying you is easy."

"Well, thanks," he said, and buried his face in Brendon's chest.

"Where do you want to lay down?  There's the balcony up here, the couch downstairs, the bed if we wanna try going down and then back up stairs . . .?" Brendon offered.

"You don't even have to go back down to get to our bedroom.  I found a shortcut," Ryan claimed.  "Go to the end of the hallway and the door will take you to our bathroom."

"Really?  Okay."  Brendon followed Ryan's directions, carrying him bridal style until he was setting Ryan down on the soft bed.  It was then that they could both see the full extent of Ryan's injuries.  He had a bruise on his jaw, scrapes and darker bruises on his forearms and elbows, new rips in the denim of his pants, and a swollen, greenish brown bruised ankle.  Brendon grimaced just looking at him.  "What did you do, baby?  What happened?"

"Well, where you found me, there was a light in that room, but it went out before I could get back upstairs.  So I tripped about halfway up the staircase, and I didn't have a railing to catch me, so I just . . . Fell.  And then I tried to walk on it, but I fell back down again every time."

"How long were you down there before you called me?" Brendon worried.

"Not that long, only about three hours."

"Not that long?  Three hours is a long time to be stuck.  Oh, I'm so sorry."  Brendon showered Ryan's face with light kisses, wishing to make everything better for Ryan.  "We'll take you to a doctor tomorrow, but what can I do for you right now?  Do you need some ice or Tylenol—?"

"Both, please, and uh—alcohol?  What do we have that's—"

"Whiskey?  You need something strong."

"Whiskey sounds great," Ryan answered.

"Okay, I'll be right back."  Brendon placed a featherlight kiss on Ryan's bruised jaw before leaving the room.

Ryan noticed his hands were shaking, and he was about to cry from relief that the pain was about to go away and Brendon was there to get him through it.  The mattress and pillows felt amazing compared to the wood of the stairs digging into his back and neck.

Brendon returned with the things Ryan wanted, plus a damp washcloth to clean Ryan's arms with.  "Thank you," Ryan said.  "And I'm sorry you had to leave early, I feel bad, it could've waited."

"Are you kidding me?  No way.  I'm constantly thinking about you, and I would much rather be here than with them, anyway.  But especially if something happens to you, I need to be here."

"Thanks again."

"Anything for you, lover."

<<<<<>>>>>

Ryan stood in front of the mirror, trying to decide what to wear.  It wasn't Brendon's fault that he had been of no help to Ryan; Brendon had to dash downstairs to meet someone at the door.

They were having a party—a "house-warming party," as they'd written on the invites.  Ryan knew that the house was going to be packed full of people—stoned and drunk—in a couple hours.  Ryan and Brendon had invited all of their friends, who in turn could bring whoever they pleased and then those people's plus-ones.  

Ryan wasn't ready for anyone to show up.  The party wasn't supposed to start for almost another hour, but he was more than thankful that Brendon was just waiting for guests to arrive.  Ryan flipped through the hangers in the closet, trying to decide what to put on over his t-shirt.  Leather vest or blazer jacket, he couldn't decide.  He eventually chose the blazer since Brendon was already wearing leather.

He could hear voices outside the door of the bedroom, Pete's, Meagan's, Brendon's.

". . . and then this this the master bedroom.  Ryan's still in there getting ready, but . . ." Brendon said.

"Oh, Ryan.  I haven't seen that motherfucker in months," Pete said.

"I guess you haven't," Brendon commented.  "He'll probably be out in a few minutes."

Ryan hurried, closed the closet door, made the bed.  He opened both of the double bedroom doors and poked his head out.  Brendon turned around and looked at him, face lighting up with a smile.  "There you are.  Come on, I'm giving them a tour."

"Hey, Ryan, it's good to see you," Pete said.

"Hello," Ryan greeted.  "How're you?"

Brendon slipped an arm around Ryan's waist while they walked, Pete and Meagan telling them they were good, they'd hired a babysitter for the night, that they thought the house was beautiful and how happy they were for Ryan and Brendon.  They paced through every bedroom, and Brendon unlocked a door to show them the little music room he and Ryan had set up for themselves.

The two couples had just sat down in the living room when there was another knock on the door again.  Brendon stood to greet whoever came; it turned out to be Patrick and Elisa.  "Hey," come in," Brendon said.

"You're house is so beautiful," Elisa said.

"It's huge," Patrick said.

"Thanks.  I mean, Ryan surprised me with it," Brendon said, a tone of pride in his voice.

They walked in on the conversation Pete and Ryan were having.  "I have to say I'm really proud of you two," Pete said.

Ryan rolled his eyes.  "Pete . . ."

"No, seriously.  Not even just your band, but with your relationship with Brendon and being able to deal with it through all of this." Pete gave a sad smile, knowing how hard it was to keep a relationship with another boy in the music industry.

Ryan smiled back, wearily.  "It hasn't been easy, but," he sighed, "we had to work it out.  Couldn't be without each other."

Pete nodded.  "And I'm proud of you for that."

"Thank you."

After Patrick and Elisa, Ryan got a text from Spencer: "we're pulling up. you didn't say it was a mansion?"

"Spencer's here," Ryan told Brendon, before Brendon sat down.  The doorbell promptly rang.

"I'll get it," Brendon announced, and turned on his heel.  From the living room, Ryan could hear the door open, the conversation that followed.

"Brendon!  We brought a surprise," Spencer said.

Ryan heard Linda's giggle, and then Brendon screech the word, "JON!"  Ryan flinched, stood up, and started walking to the door.  Brendon couldn't have meant Jon _Walker_ was there, no, he wouldn't have flown all the way from Chicago—

Between Spencer and Linda, Jon Walker stood, holding Brendon in an embrace and smiling over his shoulder.  "What the fuck are you doing here?" Brendon laughed when he pulled away.  "Ryan!" Brendon called, not realizing Ryan was right behind him.

"Hey, Jon," Ryan said.  "Come in, guys," he invited, and hugged Jon as well.  "No, really, what are you doing here?" Ryan said, grinning.  "In L.A.?"

"I haven't seen any of you in a couple months, which is really weird, and I had to see the house.  I'm staying with Spence and Linda for the week—" Jon began explaining.

Brendon gasped.  "Spence!  That's not fair!  You can't steal Jon from us for the whole week.  He has to stay with us for a couple nights, at least," Brendon said.

"Of course," Jon said.  "If you guys have room in the house, I don't know," he joked.

"We definitely have room.  We should show you around," Ryan said, glancing at Brendon.

"Yeah, you should get a tour of the place," Brendon agreed.  They hadn't gone two steps when there was another knock on the door, and Brendon turned back around to answer it.  Spencer, Linda, Jon, and Ryan continued, heading upstairs.

"Hey, Ryan, what happened to your ankle?" Jon asked while they walked.

It had been weeks since the incident, and Ryan's limp was barely noticeable, but he had a wrap around his ankle that was noticeable.  "I, um, kind of twisted it a couple weeks ago, 'cause I fell down some stairs, you know."  There was a pause where Jon just laughed, and Ryan defended himself with, "It was dark, okay?"

"Okay, I get it, shit happens," Jon said.

Ryan showed them around upstairs, and when they went back down, they were shocked to find the house nearly crowded, bustling with people.  Ryan made his way through the kitchen, getting introduced to new people by others he only vaguely knew.  He found that by the time he got to the refrigerator, Jon was the only one following him.  "Where did Linda and Spence go?" Ryan asked him.

"Linda went off with Jenna, you know, Tyler's wife.  And Brendon took Spencer to go see Pete, and I think William Beckett is here . . ." Jon said.

"Oh, okay."  Ryan looked around the room.  "It's crowded in here, isn't it?  I want to show you something."

Jon followed Ryan up to the balcony, and they settled to lean on the edges and talk.

"So, the balcony is a hidden feature," Jon said.

"Yeah, but I like that about it," Ryan said.

"Your view is stunning, too," Jon commented, looking out at the trees, illuminated by the lights from the house.

"Thank you.  I was kinda surprised that we liked it, moving from the city.  But we spend a lot of time up here now . . ."  They discussed the houses Ryan had gone through before deciding on buying the one they did.  When they ran out of beer, they trailed back downstairs and into the party.  The people had dispersed outside onto the pool area, although the water remained untouched.

Ryan was finding a bottle of wine in one of the cupboards when he heard someone other than Jon calling his name. He looked behind him to see Travie McCoy approaching.  "Hey," Ryan said.  "What's up?"

"Brendon's been looking for you," Travie said.

"Oh, okay.  We'll be right out," Ryan said.

He poured the two glasses of wine for himself and Jon, and they headed outside.  It was nearly dark outside, seven at night.  Ryan found Brendon sitting at a table with Jake Sinclair and Butch Walker, empty shot glasses lined up in front of them.  There was a half empty bottle of liquor in the middle of the table, and Ryan couldn't help but notice that Brendon's cheeks were slightly flushed, his hair started to fall in his face.  Jon had wandered off somewhere, leaving Ryan with his wine.

"Hey," Ryan said to Brendon.  "You were looking for me?"

"Yeah.  Not really for a reason, but I couldn't find you for like an hour," Brendon said with a smile.  He'd already started getting drunk, Ryan could tell, and so was Jake.  Ryan considered joining them, putting his glass of wine down.

"I was talking to Jon," Ryan said.

"Do you wanna shot?" Brendon offered, reaching for the bottle and a glass.

"No, thank you.  Won't mix well with the wine."

"Oh yeah, you're right." Brendon poured and drank another shot in place of Ryan, and Ryan pulled up a chair and sat beside him.  He caught up with Butch and Jake, until they decided they'd had enough of the hard liquor, and Ryan ran out of wine.  Brendon got up to fetch them all beers, but Ryan went with him to get another glass of wine.

Ryan was holding Brendon's beer and his own new glass of wine, while Brendon walked next to him, holding beers for Jake and Butch.  They got stopped right outside the door, on the deck, by Linda.  "Okay, I need a picture of you two," she insisted.  Ryan and Brendon glanced at each other, and Brendon shrugged.  "Stand by the pool. I've got your drinks," Linda said.  They handed their drinks over and stood by the edge of the pool.  Brendon habitually slipped an arm around Ryan's waist, head tilted slightly in Ryan's direction.

They posed for a few pictures, genuine smiles for once since they were displaying something unprofessional but accomplishing.  Brendon started walking away like he was going to retrieve the drinks, but turned around to playfully shove Ryan's chest, pushing him into the pool.  Ryan was totally soaked when he resurfaced, his entire body having been submersed in the water.  The pool was fairly deep, and the first sight he had when he could see above water was Brendon, towering over him with a smug smirk playing across his face.  Ryan put his elbows up on the pool deck, holding himself up so he didn't have to tread water.

"Fuck off," Ryan said, though he couldn't help but smile.  Brendon laughed hysterically, cheeks pink as he watched Ryan try to push all his wet hair off his face.  Ryan peeled his t-shirt off his back, soaked, and threw it at Brendon.  Although he jumped back and squirmed, the shirt still hit Brendon, leaving a wet spot on Brendon's clothes.  Brendon squealed at the water hitting his skin.  "See?  That's cold, isn't it?" Ryan said, though there was no maliciousness behind his voice.

Brendon rolled his eyes.  "Aw, poor baby," he said, mockingly.  "Did you want me to make you some hot chocolate?  Light the fireplaces?  It's August, Ryan."  Ryan splashed a bit more water to Brendon's feet and ankles, getting more of his jeans wet.  "Fucker," Brendon laughed.  Ryan pushed himself out of the pool, water dripping off his body.  He and Brendon walked past Pete and Andy to get into the house, and they applauded Brendon as he walked by.  Ryan shook his head, starting to shiver, and Brendon continued laughing.

"Fuck you, go get me a towel," Ryan demanded, but not able to contain a smile at Brendon's contagious laughter.

"Just go get a change of clothes, it'll be warmer," Brendon said.

Ryan was reluctant to go into the air conditioning of the house, but he rushed through, not meeting the people's stares who didn't know why he was running through the house, soaking wet.  He nearly fell down the stairs, when he rushed up them and forgot about his twisted ankle, but the caught himself on the railing.  He closed the door of the bedroom behind him, and like Brendon had sarcastically mentioned, simply flicked a switch to turn the fireplace on.  The extra heat in the room was appreciated.  While he changed into a new pair of jeans, he plotted how he was going to toss Brendon in the pool next, to get him back.

Ryan got snagged back inside the house, needing to catch up with several people he hadn't seen in months.  When he realized a couple more hours passed, he asked someone where Brendon was, to which they laughed and said he jumped in the pool.  Ryan peeked outside to see that it was true, Brendon was in the pool with Jake, Pete, and Spencer had joined them.  Ryan knew that Brendon was far passed just a little buzzed.  It remained hot and humid outside, although it was completely dark.  Ryan dared to step to the edge of the pool, and smiled at Spencer.  Brendon swam up to him, giggling over nothing.  "Ryan, get in the fuckin'—" giggle, "—pool."

Ryan rolled his eyes.  "Not tonight."

"Baby, can you get me another beer?" Brendon said.

"You drank so much, they're all gone."

"No I didn't!"

"Wouldn't be surprised if you did."

"Fuck it.  Grab me a water?"

"Sure," Ryan said.  He turned to walk back in the house, hearing water splash behind him. A pair of arms around his shoulders stopped him.  He immediately recognized the wet body behind him as Brendon's, the tattoos on his arm confirming it.  Brendon nuzzled his cold face into Ryan's neck.

"I love you," Brendon said, remnants of a laugh in his muffled voice.

Ryan smirked.  "Love you too."

Brendon clung tighter to Ryan and planted one, two, three firm kisses up Ryan's neck.  "Love you more," he said loudly into Ryan's ear, making Ryan flinch.  His voice was somewhat higher pitched from drunk happiness.  He moved his hands down Ryan's front, taking no caution to leave Ryan's shirt dry, and slipped his hands up under the hem, pushing Ryan's shirt halfway up his stomach before Ryan stopped him.

"Brendon," Ryan said quietly.  There were a few people watching them now, seeing how far Ryan would let Brendon go, but Ryan grabbed Brendon's wrists right then, turned him and Brendon around, and successfully pushed Brendon straight back into the pool. Pete was laughing hysterically at them, just as intoxicated—if not more so—than Brendon.

"Mean!" Brendon exclaimed, bright smile spreading on his face.  Ryan smiled back at him.

"That's what you get, for earlier," Ryan said.

"I'll—I'll get you back again!" Brendon claimed.

Ryan chuckled.  "Sure you will.  I'll go get you your water."

Elisa and Patrick Stump were the first people to get to Ryan when he walked in the house.  Patrick was noticeably drunk, an arm slung around Elisa's shoulders while she looked at him amusedly.  "We're gonna head home," Elisa said.

"Oh, okay," Ryan said.  He looked at Patrick again and said, "You can stay the night here if you don't wanna drive home.  We'll probably make Pete and Meagan stay.  You guys are more than welcome to."

"No, no, thank you, though.  I haven't had that much to drink, I'll drive," Elisa said.

"Alright.  If you're sure . . ."

"Yeah, don't go out of your way for us, Ryan," Patrick said, words slightly slurred.

"Okay.  We'll get together soon.  Get home safe," Ryan said.

With that, Ryan checked the time to find that it was just past midnight.  The amount of people had drastically diminished, the people Ryan and Brendon weren't close to having left earlier.  More friends said goodnight to Ryan as he made his way through the house, sometimes asking where to find Brendon to say the same to him.  Ryan finally brought the bottle of water out to Brendon, and found that they'd all gotten out of the pool, wrapped in towels.

Brendon was being loud but generally harmless as Tyler and Jenna Joseph were leaving.  Spencer, Linda, and Jon were going, since they were all close enough to sober and knew Ryan and Brendon were going to have enough people spending the night.  It came down to Jake Sinclair, Pete and Meagan, William Beckett, and Josh Dun and Ashley Frangipane staying at the house.  Brendon hung off Ryan as he showed them all to guest bedrooms, knocking his limbs on walls and doors with drunkenness.

Ryan got Brendon to follow him back to their bedroom, made him quiet down so everyone else in the house could sleep.  Brendon put his lips to Ryan’s in a sloppy, hard kiss before Ryan could get away to get ready for bed.  Brendon pressed more kisses around Ryan's chin and jaw while guiding him to the bed.  “Hey-ey,” Ryan said, “come on, now.  We’re both tired.”

Brendon shook his head, moving to sink his knees on the bed while keeping his arms around Ryan's neck.  “It's been a long day.  Don't you want some relief?”  Brendon tugged Ryan down onto the bed with him.  Ryan let Brendon kiss along his jaw, neck, and shoulders, but stopped when Brendon tried to remove Ryan's simple shirt.

“Babe, stop it,” Ryan said as he broke their kiss.  “We can't right now.”

Brendon frowned.  “We know how to keep quiet,” he whispered.

Ryan rolled his eyes.  “I'm sorry, sweetheart, you're drunk.  You'll crash in a few minutes, anyway.”

Brendon cocked his head and stared at Ryan with pleading eyes as a last attempt.  When Ryan didn't give in, Brendon dropped it, letting go of Ryan's shirt and smoothing out the fabric.  “Yeah, sure.”  Ryan knew Brendon would wake up with a hangover in the morning, and sex right before bed wouldn't help that at all.

They changed into their night clothes—old t-shirts and sweatpants—and laid down in the over large bed to slowly drift off to sleep.

Ryan awoke naturally, feeling well-rested as the sunlight glowed through the windows.  He yawned and turned over on his side, unacquainted without feeling Brendon's body snuggled up next to him.  Brendon was tucked in on the opposite side of the bed, clutching the covers and whimpering.  Ryan looked at him a bit sadly and crawled closer to him.  “B, hey,” Ryan said, voice rough, “lover.”  Ryan gently touched Brendon's cheek, careful not to scare Brendon even more.  Brendon lifted his head up with a distressed whine that was enough to make Ryan wince.  Ryan hated to see Brendon in such fear.  Brendon's eyelids lifted to reveal his melty chocolate eyes, and he had to blink a few times to comprehend that it was just Ryan next to him.  “Bad dreams again?” Ryan asked.

Brendon nodded wearily and buried his face in Ryan's chest, arms loosely around him.  Ryan automatically carded his fingers through the dark strands of Brendon's hair, knowing how to calm him from whatever his nightmares had held for him.  “I'm right here,” Ryan said.  “You're safe.”

Shifting against Ryan's torso, Brendon nosed up Ryan's neck to rest his head on Ryan's shoulder.  “Please don't ever leave me, okay?” Brendon whispered in Ryan's ear.

“No, of course not.  I never will.”

“I love you,” Brendon persisted.

“I love you too,” Ryan said.  “Are you okay?  Do you wanna talk about it?”

Brendon cleared his throat.  “No, I'm alright.”

Ryan sighed, continuing to slowly run his hands through Brendon's hair.  “Don't worry about any of it,” Ryan said.  He didn't want to push Brendon to specify, although he was curious as to what Brendon dealt with while he slept.

“I'll try not to,” Brendon said.  He curled up against Ryan's chest, letting Ryan hold him and pacify him like always.  Ryan watched his eyelids grow heavy again, more of Brendon's weight relax against him.

“Do you want to try to go back to sleep, baby boy?” Ryan said.

Brendon nodded.  “I have a headache,” he complained, angling his head away from the sunlight.

“Hungover.  Why don't you lay back down, and I'll go get you . . . whatever you need right now, hmm?”

Brendon sunk off of Ryan and into the pillows.  “Just some water.  Thank you, angel.”

Ryan bent over to place a comforting kiss on Brendon's lips before getting up to leave the room.  As he passed the other bedrooms, he could hear the murmur of voices behind the doors, the guests beginning to wake.  Ryan went downstairs to find the house a mess, nothing unexpected post-party.  He made a large pot of coffee for everyone else's guaranteed hangovers, and was preparing Brendon's water when he heard footsteps.  “So, a fuckin’ mansion is the new form of chivalry, huh?” Pete said.  He was alone, blonde hair rustled and eyes bloodshot.

“Always gotta be dramatic with Brendon,” Ryan grinned.

“He really loves you,” Pete informed.  “Last night he started talking about you, and, man, I've never heard him be so . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“Well, I'm lucky he's happy when he's drunk, and that he still puts up with me.  I mean, I don't really know what I would do if he didn't.”

Pete mimed gagging.  “You guys are too sweet, it makes me sick.”

Ryan shrugged.  “It's true.”  Pete huffed and moved to make his own cup of coffee, not feeling the need to ask Ryan for anything.  “Um, Pete?” Ryan asked.

“Yeah?”

“Brendon’s not actually still afraid I'm gonna leave him, is he?”

Pete smiled, corners of his eyes crinkling.  “No, I'm pretty sure he knows you love him, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Too fluffy?


End file.
